


Something Awful

by enochiancass



Series: Destiel ficlets [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, a little bit of violence idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4137930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enochiancass/pseuds/enochiancass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is having nightmares about the Mark of Cain. Cas comforts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Awful

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is really bad and I wrote it a long time ago and I should probably delete it but hey whatever. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these peeps

Castiel picked himself up off the floor and turned to face his attacker, his eyes flooding with shock as he recognized the man he'd sacrificed himself for countless times. He had a predatory glint in his eyes as he slowly circled the angel, first blade in hand.

"Dean, you don't have to do this; it isn't you," Castiel pleaded as Dean began closing the space between them.

Laughter bubbled from Dean's throat, . "You don't get it, do you? I don't have a choice in this. The moment I said yes to the mark, this was destined to happen."

Castiel shook his head, a pained expression on his face. "Dean, you're the one who taught me about free will; you taught me that destiny-"

"Well I was wrong," Dean snapped. "There's no running from this. Now I've accepted this destiny, and it's time for you to accept yours."

Dean lunged forward, swinging the blade at Castiel, who barely managed to dive out of the way, rolling across the wooden floor of the bunker. He got back up to his feet as an angel blade slipped smoothly from his coat sleeve and into his firm grasp.

"That's more like it," Dean snarled, "I like 'em fighting back... more of a challenge."

"Dean please don't make me do this."

Dean replied by crossing the room in a flash, bringing the blade once more in the direction of the angel. Castiel countered, bringing the angel blade up to block the attack. Celestial metal met ancient bone, disarming both men in the process. The weapons clattered to the floor, landing an utterly inconvenient distance away from fight. Castiel straightened, a pool of crimson slowly spreading his coat sleeve where he'd been struck by the blade.

"Dean-"

Castiel was cut off by a cold, sharp hit to the jaw, causing him to stumble backwards onto the floor. Dean followed Castiel to the ground, straddling the angels hips as he began to lay hit after hit across the other man's face.

Castiel caught Dean's fist in his palm, using the last of his energy to flip the hunter over onto his back, pinning him down with his knees. Castiel brought his own fist into the other man's face, causing a smooth stream of blood to poor from his nose. 

"Go ahead, Cas," Dean sneered, "do it."

Eyes full of uncertainty, Castiel brought his hand up, a soft yellow light glowing in his palm. Before the angel could bring his palm to the hunter's forehead, Dean's arm shot out, pulling the first blade into his possession. In a flash, Dean brought his arm up, sinking the blade into Castiel's abdomen. Blue light began to shine around the blade as the angel's arm fell to his side, the light fading from his hand, and his eyes. Dean twisted the blade and Castiel's head snapped backwards, the same blue light exploding from his face. Dean pulled the blade from the angel's body and rolled out of the way as the lifeless body slumped to the ground.

~§~

Dean shot up in his bed, rivulets of sweat beading down his face. His breathing was erratic as he pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to erase the images of the blade sinking into Cas' stomach. Dean had been having nightmares ever since his encounter with Cain and they've been getting progressively worse.

"And then you'd kill the angel Castiel," Cain's voice rang like a bell in Dean's ears, "now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful." And it did. It did hurt something awful. Everytime Dean had snapped awake, sweaty palms, bloodshot eyes, it hurt more than any monster, more than any demon, more than anything he'd ever encountered. That's alot coming from someone who's been to hell and back. Not to mention purgatory. Dean sat there, recounting his dream, dreading the day it would finally come true.

He went over his routine self reassurance. He remembered how he didn't even have the blade; Cas himself had taken care of it. He remembered all the times before he had been told something was set in stone: Him having to kill Sammy, the apocalypse, becoming Michael's vessel. All the times fate had failed to rule his life. After repeating this to himself a few times, Dean had calmed down but his mind was still heavy. Knowing that if he went back to sleep, the same nightmare (Prophecy?) would come back to haunt him, he wandered to the kitchen and heated up some left over take-out from the night before.

He sat at the long wooden table in silent, painful contemplation, mindlessly stirring his fork through the small carton of stir-fry. Soft tendrils of steam rose upwards to gently tickle his nose. The bunker that he had come to know as home felt large and uninviting. Sam was gone hunting alone, needless to say, he didn't feel like Dean was ready to get back in the game. Dean agreed. Sam was currently tracking what he believed to be a vamp nest somewhere in Wisconsin.

Dean stood up leaving the stir-fry untouched and wandered into the bathroom, leaning over to splash cool water onto his face. He glanced at himself in the mirror, comforted by the green (Not black) eyes that stared back at him. He brought a towel up to dry his face and studied himself in the mirror. Dean's gaze rested on the mark and he couldn't help but remember everything that damned thing had made him do. Dean staggered stressfully back into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of whiskey, downing the glass and pouring himself another, before floating into the living room and slumping onto the couch. All Dean could think about was Cas's eyes as Dean felt himself stab the blade into his stomach.

"I'm sorry, Cas." Dean whispered. Dean's mind filled with longing for the dark-haired angel. He longed for the reassurance of holding him in his arms. Of knowing he was okay.

"Cas...?" Dean started uncertainly. "Cas, you there? I-... I need you. I'm not okay and I need you." Dean sat in the dark for hours, drowning himself in whiskey, forcing himself to stay awake. Away from the darkness. Dean's head jolted as he heard a knock at the door. Dean got up and slowly swung the door open, revealing a worried Castiel.

"Dean, What-," Castiel was cut short by Dean pulling him into a tight hug. Castiel stood, shocked for a second before returning the affection. Dean stepped back and Castiel peered into Dean's eyes, trying to figure out what was wrong. "I heard your prayer, Dean," Cas said. He wandered through the door and stood in the middle of the lounge room. Dean shut the door and followed him over, falling back onto the couch. Castiel took a seat next to him and prodded, "Dean, what's wrong?" Dean looked up at Castiel with uncertainty.

"I-," he faltered, "I've been having dreams. Dreams about the blade." Castiel tenderly took Deans hand and looked him in the eyes.

"Dean, it's okay. the blade is hidden, you-,"

"No Cas, it's not okay. You don't understand. In my dreams I'm hurting people. I'm hurting you, Cas. Cain told me one day I would kill you, and it hurts, Cas. It hurts and I'm scared that one day it's gonna happen."

Castiel sighed, "Dean, I believe in you. You never let anyone tell you what you're going to do next. You are strong. You were able to kill Cain without succumbing to the mark and I don't see another reason you'll ever have to use the blade again. We're going to find a way to get rid of that mark, Dean. So many times you've never let fate control you, you always find a way. I think that's what I admire most about you, Dean; you taught me how to think for myself."

Dean looked up at Cas, and was overwhelmed by the trust in his eyes. Dean took in the angel siting next to him; his gentle bluer-than-blue eyes, his dark, messy hair. Dean glanced at Castiel's lips and felt butterflies. He had always wondered how it would feel to press his own lips against the angel's soft pink ones.

He never would of course. He could never risk losing his friendship with Castiel if the angel didn't feel the same way about him. But, in that moment, Dean didn't care about any of that. All he cared about was what Castiel's lips would taste like.

Dean leaned in, grabbing Castiel around the waist and pulling him closer until their lips met gently. Cas froze for a good few seconds before moving. He was hesitant and shaky at first. Dean didn't pressure Castiel. He waited until he felt the angel's hand rest on his hips to gently sweep his tongue across Castiel's lips. The angel's mouth parted slightly and Dean's hand moved to the back of Cas's head so he could deepen the kiss. Dean's tongue ran itself along the roof of Castiel's mouth, eliciting a soft moan. Dean felt his pants tighten and had the urge to throw Cas down and see what other noises he could make the angel make. It took everything to resist. The kiss seemed to last for hours and finally, Dean drew back for air.

"Thanks Cas," Dean chuckled as he took in the angel. His hair, even more tussled than usual, his pupils dilated, and his soft pink lips were now red and swollen.

"Dean, I-," Castiel looked dazed, Dean couldn't tell from happiness or shock or both. He sat in anticipation, not knowing how the angel would react.

Finally, Castiel asked, "Can we do that again?"


End file.
